


John

by A_dot_Gab



Series: Only Sane Man AU [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cutting, Depression, John's parents are only kind of in this, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Multi, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_dot_Gab/pseuds/A_dot_Gab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A focus on John in this universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John

**Author's Note:**

> Tread carefully, please. Take care of yourselves.

John had been sad for as long as he could remember. Smiling was hard, laughing nearly impossible. Everything just felt like weight on his chest that he couldn't seem to get rid of. And he couldn't figure out why. He lived the perfect life, the son of a well-to-do family who wanted for nothing. His father could be more understanding but not everyone was so acclimated to people, especially children. His mother adored him, the help loved him, his school (students and faculty) lauded him as the intelligent and charismatic wonder kid, the world was his for the taking, but John found himself feeling blue most days, and the feeling grew more intense, nearly unbearable as he aged. 

At eleven, he drank for the first time because the melancholy thoughts were keeping him up. He ended up with the hangover from hell, but at least his brain shut up for a while. The drinking, however, got worse as he grew a tolerance. By fourteen, the weight on John's chest felt heavier than ever, and he was at least buzzed all of the time. His father didn't care so long as he wasn't sloppy. His mother wasn't sure what to do.

Three weeks before his fifteenth birthday, the feelings and thoughts became too much and John tried to kill himself. The gun closet was locked, so he stole some of his mother's pills (hell if he knew what they did) and downed them all with a quarter bottle of vodka. His mother found him ten minutes later, half-conscious in a pool of his own vomit, suicide note on his nightstand. She had screamed for Henry to call for help and knelt down to him, ignoring the mess, to beg him to stay with her. 

He survived, barely. They pumped his stomach, kept him in medical for a week, monitored his vitals and organ function. Once the doctor assessed that he was out of danger, John was moved to the adolescent psych ward. They kept him for two weeks, and he put on his happy act despite the fact that he'd already resolved to try again. Eventually, the doctors had no choice but to release him. His father said nothing as they drove away from the hospital, but his mother joined him in the backseat to hug him and coo over him. John decided that he could wait a little longer, if only not to hurt his mother so badly. At least the weight, the thoughts, had a name now. Depression.

John stopped drinking (mostly). Partially because he was trying and partially because the alcohol was hidden. So was the medicine. So were the guns. But not the razor blades or knives. He stole an extra shaving razor from his father. It was the expensive kind, where the blades pop out. He took one and experimentally dragged it across his thigh one night. It helped more than the therapist he was being forced to see three times a week. He stopped drinking.

John manages to hang on with the help of his razor blade. His father is distant but his mother cries and tells him to stay safe when they leave him in his dorm at Columbia. His roommate moves in the next day while John is on a late morning walk. "Hello," they greet with a polite smile upon John's return, french accent evident. "I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, but please, call me Lafayette."

"John, John Laurens." John manages in response sticking a hand out for the kid to shake. They have a strong grip.

"Tell me, John Laurens, do you have any friends here at Columbia?" Lafayette asks. John shakes his head and Lafayette smiles warmly. "Come with me then. I was just going to meet some friends of mine for lunch." John shrugs and turns to leave the dorm again.

"Sure, why not," he agrees. Lafayette smiles.

"You will like them, mon ami. I am sure of it!" they chatter excitedly, long strides pulling them up next to John quickly. John feels something weird in his chest, like a flutter. He ignores it, marking it as symptom of something he probably did to himself when he was younger. 

He half listens to Lafayette's chatter all the way to the dining hall, picking out important details such as their origins (south central France), pronoun preference (they/them), and academic interests (Double major in English and French Studies). The pair part to gather up the food they want (John ends up grabbing only some fruit salad) and meet at the edge of the tables. Lafayette scans the crowd for a few moments before exclaiming "There they are! Allons-y, John Laurens!" John has to almost jog to keep up with their long stride. Luckily for him, their full tray slows them down and John reaches the table only a step behind Lafayette. There are two boys there already: a large but friendly seeming black kid and a little Spanish looking kid with intense, dark eyes that burn like fire as they lock onto John.

"Hey Laf," the kid greets, still studying John. "Is this your roommate?"

"Oui, Alexander. His name is John Laurens," Lafayette introduces as they and John sit down at the remaining two chairs at the table. "John, meet Alexander Hamilton," they motion to the Spanish kid, "and Hercules Mulligan," they motion to the black kid before tucking into their food. John gives a small wave, feeling a tad nervous for some reason. Alexander studies him, chewing slowly. It's Hercules that finally breaks the silence.

"What are you studying, John?" he asks, genuine curiosity clear on his face. John swallows a bit of fruit before responding.

"Polisci major with a minor in racial relations." he says, and Alexander smiles and opens his mouth to respond before Hercules can.

"Polisci with a creative writing minor." he supplies. "We probably have classes together." John looks at Hercules in askance of his major. Hercules shrugs.

"Fashion major, business minor." he says nonchalantly, reaching for his water bottle. Alexander opportunistically jumps on the impending silence.

"So there's a Black Lives Matter protest a couple streets over tonight and. . ." Alexander rambles and the flutter in John's chest blooms out of him into a true smile.

Time Skip

Two months later found John sitting in his and Lafayette's dorm, musing over how much had changed. He and Alex had started dating and he had become a part of the queerplatonic relationship the original trio shared. He had gotten arrested with one of the Schuyler sisters (Eliza) at a protest and gained three more good friends in the process (the Schuyler sisters). He'd fought Thomas Jefferson and Charles Lee( the idiots) much to Professor Washington's chagrin. Things were going well overall, but he could feel the numbness creeping up inside of him again, pushing on his chest with that unbearable weight. He hadn't cut in a month, forcing himself to quit when he started dating Alexander, but Lafayette was out and his razor was tempting him with the promise of, however temporarily, a release of the pressure on his chest. He knocks back the rest of his third (maybe) beer. He's not sure. He hadn't started counting to begin with. His tipsy state only makes the yearning worse and he finally gives in, brain hissing 'quickly and they'll never know'. He scrambles over to his bathroom bag and grabs his razor. The next movements are pure muscle memory. He pops a blade into his left hand, catching it gently to avoid slicing his fingers before stowing the other pieces away. With his right hand, he pulls down his shorts and pulls up the legs on his boxers. The blade draws across his skin, stinging, and the pressure begins to ebb away with the blood he's drawn. He's nine cuts in when Lafayette bursts through the door and, with the position he's in, there's no way to hide it from them. The smile drops off of Lafayette's face as they realize what's going on and take a tentative step towards John. "Mon cher, John, please, may I have the razor?" they ask, voice tight. John drops the razor to his bed guilt overwhelming him. The sobs follow quickly.

"I'm so sorry Lafayette!" he gasps, trying not to break completely down. "I never meant for you to see this. I just, I, fuck, I'm so sorry." Lafayette strides over to John, deftly avoiding the empty beer bottles, and picks up the bloody blade with two fingers. They move it over to their desk, behind some books before returning to John, a towel from the laundry in their chair in hand.

"We need to get you cleaned up, mon amour. And I am going to call Hercules and Alexander." they tell John, before swallowing thickly. "Can you stand for me? I need to see the extent of your injuries." they add. John quiets his sobs and struggles to his feet. The blood drips down his thighs, nearly to his knees, when Lafayette kneels in front of him and catches it with a towel. They wipe up gently and dab over the cuts. "Please hold the towel here John. I need to call them." Lafayette gently commands. John whimpers. They're all going to know how weak he is now. They're all going to leave him. He resists the urge to drop the towel and run out of the room. Lafayette doesn't hear him over the panic on the other end of the phone. He sits to wait for the consequences of his weakness.

Alexander and Hercules arrive in record time, nearly taking the door off of the hinges. Lafayette physically holds Alex back while Hercules treats John's wounds. John doesn't hiss or twitch, just stares blankly at Hercules' hands cleaning and bandaging his bloody thighs. "Lafayette, please trash the blade and take Alexander outside with you." Mulligan requests with a tone that brooks no argument. Lafayette picks up the blade, crusted with half-dried blood in one hand, takes Alexander's hand with the other, and shuffles them both out of the room. "John, honey, I need you to talk to me. What happened that made you do this?" he asks. John lets his chin drop to his chest in shame, unable to bring himself to answer. "John," Hercules gently prods, "if you don't tell me something I'm going to have to call health services, and they will Baker Act you. Hospitals can be really awful and I don't want to do that so please talk to me." John lifts his head to look into Hercules' worried face.

 

"I was diagnosed with depression in my teens." John sighs, before pausing to recollect himself. The alcohol is catching up with him. "It came back pretty full force tonight. I could feel that pressure on my chest. The alcohol wouldn't make it go away so I. . ." John cuts off. Hercules nods.

"How do you feel now?" Hercules asks.

"Guilty. Weak." John forces out.

"Don't. You've been doing so well. I could tell from the day we met that you struggled more than you let on and the fact that you held on for so long makes you strong. But don't be afraid to lean on us, sweetheart. We love you and want what's best for you." Hercules says, wrapping an arm around John's shoulder. John leans into him, hopeful.

"You're not leaving me?" he asks, almost too quietly to hear.

"Never. And Laf and Alex will tell you the same." Hercules comforts. The pair stick their heads in at the mention of their names and Hercules nods. Alex flies over to John, wordlessly fussing, while Lafayette pushes their bed over next to John's. They toss a clean towel over to Hercules, who covers the bloodstain on John's sheets and stretches out near the wall. "We all need sleep." he reminds them gently. John tentatively lays down next to him obediently, determined to keep their love despite Hercules' reassuring words. Lafayette carefully crawls over John to lay on top of Hercules and Alexander nestles into John's free side moments later after turning out the light. One by one the tangle drops off. John is the last to go, his final though prior to unconsciousness that the weight on his chest was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever feel the way poor John did then please reach out to someone. You are so precious and the world would be darker without you. Tumblr: randomambitions.tumblr.com


End file.
